menh/MENH/mennnnnh Interjection 1a: a non-specific declaration of delight as in (Menh! I’m so very pleased to see you!) 1b: a non-specific declaration of dismay as in (I am incredibly hungover and in need of a Caesar; mennnnnh!) 2: in place of a growl, purr, roar, cry, or similar as in (triumphant turtle, menacing fish, or similar: Menh!) 3a: in times of triumph or victory as in (joyful baby: Mennnh! ~I am born!) 3b: as a battle cry as in (attacking squirrel: Mennh! ~I will crush thee!)

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After a week of feasting my senses on the cosmic insanity that is Bonnaroo, I’m back in Toronto. I like it here, I think. Seems a bit drab, but after all, it’s home. I’m still shuffling and reshuffling the deck of cards I wrote my memories on, piecing together Polaroids and little snippets of songs. I’m in a daze. Sylvia just took a short video of me and this is what I look like:

I can’t find my camera but I have been able to track down a couple of images that illustrate the severity of this year’s Bonnaweird levels. See?

And this … well … I don’t know what to say about this one. It was seven am … Umphrey’s McGee was jamming hard … and … some things happened. No one understands what, exactly, led to this photo being taken. No one understands why I gave my PHONE NUMBER to the guy flashing peace signs in the back of the shot. But I did, and that’s how I acquired this photo.

Peace and Love,

Sarah “Two Hot Dogs One Bun” Cynthia

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I was recently reminded of this old quote, which I believe was popularized with the release of the 1971 movie Fiddler on theRoof: “A bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together?” I playfully teased a good friend with this conundrum, to which they astutely albeit cheekily replied, “is the fish a Mudskipper?”

Here look nature…boom… we have it! It is called MUDSKIPPER? I defaulted to David Attenborough, my great and worthy advisor on all things wildlife related for the answer. Why spend half the afternoon watching Mudskipper videos on Youtube? Well… because I love this shit…

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Goodbye, goodbye, I’m sailing away to Tennessee to see some bands, knock off a few brain cells, and commune with my furry brethren. See?

It was at Bonnaroo last year that Sylvia and I first fell in love. The drive down was a daisy chain of laughter and fun, and our whole experience at the Farm was vibrantly coloured by our newfound infatuation: each other. Thus it is with greatest sadness that I part from my beloved Syl for a whole week; she simply shan’t be coming to Roo this year! After all, someone has to earn some money around here!

So in honour of my friendiversary with Syl, I thought I’d share some honeymoon pics. These are all from Roo 2011. More to follow upon my return. For now my darlings, feast your eyes on these beauts …..

Syl messing around with Gary. I’m not sure it’s water in that Camelbak.

Sometimes what you need to stumble upon at seven am is an impromptu dubstep party!

Now that I think of it, this was the first time I’d ever encountered a Spirit Hood. Funny how much things change in a year, non? PS: I still love you Tim. You, and your moustache.

Gary about to go shank a bitch.

Some Roo freaks and geeks.

Love you all and promise to keep you at least sporadically informed of my … activities …

While scanning through Craigslist postings, looking for a new piece of furniture, I happened upon this beauty:

As I read the description I thought, Wow!! But what if I don’t live in a loft? Will I still find uses for this Butcher Block Style Kitchen Island? Will you even sell it to me? Then I scrolled down to check out the image:

Are you kidding me?? I’m assuming the price is a typo, but even still … come ON! This isn’t an island! Or a butcher’s block! It’s a CART. In functionality and aesthetic value it’s roughly equivalent to the infamous BEKVAM cart, one of which I just sold on Craigslist for fifty bucks.

I love so many things about this posting. My favourite might be the note that the dishes and “other items” shown aren’t included in the price. The price of four hundred and fifty-nine doll-hairs. Well, is a diamond ring included? How about a unicorn. No? Then I simply shan’t be buying it.

~~~

Another great listing specified that a piece of IKEA furniture was in “mint condition.”

And, apparently there’s a band from Minnesota called Mint Condition, so I suppose they can be considered to be in mint condition, too. But IKEA furniture? Again, I can only say Come onnnn.

But that’s the reaction I have every time I go on Craigslist. It’s such a useful tool, but it’s populated by so many useless tools. People who think their junk is going to get them rich! People who think their junk is the prettiest, bestest junk on earth. There are so many ridiculous postings that make me guffaw and/or choke on my coffee, I sometimes think there should be a website dedicated to them. Oh, wait, there is one: www.yousuckatcraigslist.com Heheh.

Now off I go to continue mocking my fellow human.

Love,

Sarah Who Still Needs an Actual Kitchen Island Type of Thing for Her Nest

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Over brunch this morning at the Drake, while sipping our much needed Caesars and mowing our Benedicts, we discussed with great hilarity the phenomenon known as shirtcocking. I have actually experienced a shirtcocker in the flesh, unfortunately for me, many years ago while riding the very busy 501 across town. Quel sue-prise.

The streetcar was stalled at Leslie, and from my seat in the back I could hear a commotion taking place at the ‘cockpit’. (Pun most definitely intended.) A man — I want to recall him as being homeless although it is entirely possible he was just your run of the mill weirdo — was trying to pay his fare to the driver who was demanding the man exit the car immediately. “You can’t ride the streetcar like that, sir, please step off.” At first I didn’t even bother investigating; as not much is worthy of such an effort on the wretched albeit at times entertaining 501.

My attention only piqued when the man refused the driver’s demands for immediate departure, and began vehemently defending his right to ride the streetcar as he was. I could only see part of him from where I was seated so I leaned sideways in my seat and had a gander. My first thought was, “What the fuck is the hold up here, he seems fine to me.” However, as my eyes scanned the vagrant from head to toe, I realized abruptly what the issue was. He was wearing a collared shirt, perhaps even a jacket, but that was all. No pants, no underwear, and apparently little regard for the societal requirement that at all times when in public, we wear at least one of these things, if not both. This man was getting his shirtcock on.

The thing about shirtcocking, is that is catches you off guard; startles you abruptly into looking directly at a man’s bits with little to no prior warning. Blatant public nudity would be more forgiving because at least your brain can immediately register the offense, but with shirtcocking you almost feel like the asshole with your pants caught around your ankles. I am interested to know who else would agree with this, but a penis and balls out and about without context is a bizarre and oftentimes unsettling sight.

Of course at the time I had no such name for this shirtcockery. It was Sarah who brought to our attention that the term had some early linkage to the Burning Man festival. Burning Man welcomes individuals from all walks of life, and freedom through self expression is encouraged in every form. Except one. While at Burning Man, thou shalt not shirtcock.

Seth Stevenson wrote an article about Burning Man for slate.com that you should read here. The following excerpt highlights the ardently frowned upon act of shirtcocking at the festival:

“There was, however, one form of nudity that everyone seemed to agree had no place within the Burning Man community. This is the type of nudity known as “shirtcocking.” Shirtcocking is when a man wears a top but is naked from the waist down. I have also heard this look referred to as “the toddler,” or “Porky Pigging.”

For reasons that are hard to fully explain—if you’ve witnessed the phenomenon you know this is true—shirtcocking is disquieting to the observer’s soul. Visually disturbing to an extreme degree. People at Burning Man are so averse to shirtcocking that I saw several posted signs vehemently denouncing the practice. And yet there were shirtcockers.”

So maybe the man trying to board the TTC that fateful day was neither a homeless man, nor a garden variety weirdo, but a harmless shirtcocking exile from Black Rock City. In any case, this observer’s soul was disquieted.

Happy Sunday Afternoon! I love this song, this group, this album SO MUCH. I don’t know how I went all this time — like, my whole life until ten minutes ago — without seeing the video. What creative geniuses. Make another album …. please? …. someday? ………..

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Gary is a close friend of ours. His interests include crushing beers, winning eating contests, and playing shot-for-shot. He is cute’s worst enemy. So from time to time we’ll invite Gary onto the Menh as an antidote to all that kitten-and-baby crap. Your afternoon just … got … real!

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Happy Egg Nyte! Aside from shamelessly scarfing mass quantities of cheap, foil wrapped chocolate eggs, the only other notably exciting thing about today is the fact that the liquor store has reopened. In celebration, we have posted these pictures of uber sketchy and down-right nightmare inducing Easter Bunnies. Pop on over to Buzzfeed to view the whole line-up.

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Sure, I used to make my Barbies have sex with my Ken dolls, it seemed only natural. But, but… this, well. People do some freaky-ass shit with their barbies apparently. I am intrigued and disturbed. On the one hand, I appreciate people taking their creative endeavors to the next level, and I ALWAYS admire an envelope pusher, but on the other hand, I can’t help but wonder what drives people to think this shit up?! Still I think it is worth sharing.

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Many heartfelt thanks to all that came out for the Official Daily Menh Launch Party last night at Poutini’s! To all of our friends, old and new, your attendance meant the world to us. Each and every one of you has fueled our inspiration and given us reason to empty out the contents of our minds onto the pages of this blog! Weloveyoulongtime!

Your submissions, requests, commentary, and feedback are always welcome and desired, so drop us a line anytime! Email us at menh@thedailymenh.com, find us on Facebook, or tweet @TheDailyMenh; we would love to hear from you! We will be posting lots of pictures of the event over the coming days, so stay tuned!

We will leave you with this in the meantime:

We were reminiscing the other day about all the movies we harbored obsessions for while growing up. It was decided that most of them were in fact really not made for children at all, but rather came from the fucked up minds of bored creatives, who took some sort of sick satisfaction in subliminally scarring their impressionable viewers. The Labyrinth is an obvious example, and this video hits the nail on the head. Whether or not you are a Labyrinth-phile, (we find people either love it, hate it, or haven’t seen it), this video is pretty funny. You should watch the whole thing, but 2 minutes in is where the real magic happens. David Bowie we are not quite sure what it is, but you got away with something here.

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Speaking of Die Antwoord, I caught their show at the Phoenix last night, and, well, the love affair continues. I can’t get enough of these weirdos! Apparently I am not alone; the show was Sold Out, and since we’d neglected to buy tickets, guess who stood out in the rain for an hour rustlin’ up a pair? This girl. It just goes to show how important it is to plan these things out beforehand. I also forgot my earplugs, but a really nice guy who works at the Phoenix managed to find some for me (thank you Paul!) It was one of several warm and friendly human connections we made that evening. We also witnessed plenty of rudeness and passive-aggressive snarking, which seem to be common at shows in Toronto.

In fact, I’ve been thinking about the concept of “show ettiquette” a lot lately … does it even exist? Seldom are we Torontonians forced into such close quarters with our fellow humans, and when we are, the results can be volatile. It’s like the subway at rush hour, but with some serious emotion involved: “You think you love this band? I love this band!” Add some alcohol and drugs, and you’ve got a human soup that may bubble over in all kinds of ways. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on the subject, dear readers …..

Anyways, Die Antwoord. Which is Afrikaans for “The Answer.” I’m not at all sure what the question is. But if I had to guess I’d say it’s, “Where can I find some avant-garde South African hip-hop/performance art that’s flashy, trashy, and funny, featuring a male singer who has been wearing the same pair of boxer shorts for years, and a female singer with a really intense mullet?”

See?!

Ninja and Yo-Landi Vi$$er are backed by DJ Hi-Tek. Not Talib’s guy; he’s a South African DJ who has for some reason chosen to go by the same moniker. Regardless, he spun some fat tracks, went shirtless, got sweaty, and in all other ways held it down. Ninja is a great stage personality …. ugly-cute and charismatic, he interacted with fans in the front row, crowdsurfed like a pro, and even paused during a verse to break up some animosity in the pit. However compelling Ninja was, though, I spent very little time actually watching him since it was so difficult to drag my eyes away from Miss Vi$$er. “Pixie” doesn’t even begin to describe her tininess, her cuteness, and her fierceness. She spat verses in a cartoonishly squeaky voice. And when she rolled out all of her R’s in “Rich Bitch,” making it sound more like “Rrrreeach Beach,” I practically barfed a rainbow.

As well as being bandmates, Ninja and Yo-Landi are real-life husband and wife, and the love really showed on stage. Each acted as the other’s hype man, and they danced in unison while wearing matching oversized sweatsuits. They kept the energy high throughout a set that went by all too quickly.

I loved every minute of the show … Die Antwoord sound much better live than on any recording I’ve heard, which is always a good sign. There was an incredible energy in the room. More than anything I enjoyed the confluence of talent, humour, and oddness. I could spend hours pulling back the onion skin layers of reality-vs-art-vs-artifice, but I’m having too much fun with Die Antwoord to care.